e'll go. Nigel is good for some hours
yet. Wynne always had a bad effect on him. Ever noticed it, West? Or you,
Stark?"

The two men nodded.

"Yes," said Tony, "I have. Many times. Nigel's never the same fellow when
that man's about. He's--he's got some sort of devilish influence over
him, I believe. And how he hates Nigel! See his eyes to-night? He could
have killed him, I believe--specially as Nigel's taken his girl."

"Yes." The doctor's voice was rather grave. "Wynne's a queer chap and a
revengeful one. And he was as drunk as a beast to-night.... Well, boys
we'll sit down and wait awhile."

Pipes were got out and cigarettes lighted. For an hour in the hot
smoking-room the men sat, talking in undertones and smoking, or dropping
off into long silences. Finally the doctor drew out his watch. He sighed
as he looked at it.

"Three o'clock, and no sign of Wynne yet. We'll be getting our things on,
boys."

Instantly every man rose to his feet. The tension slackened with
movement. In comparative silence they stole out into the hall, threw on
their coats and hats, and then Tony West nervously slid the bolts of the
big front door. It creaked once or twice, but no sound from the still
house answered it. West swung it open, and on the whitened step they
quietly put on their shoes.

The doctor switched on an electric torch and threw a blob of light upon
the gravelled pathway for them to see the descent. Then one by one they
went quietly down the steps, and West shut the door behind them.

"Excellent! Excellent!" exclaimed Doctor Bartholomew, as the gate was
reached with no untoward happenings. "Not a soul knows we're gone, boys.
That's pretty certain. Now, then, out of the gate and turn to the right
up that lane. It'll take us to the very edge of the Fens, I believe, and
then our search will commence."

He spoke with assurance, and they followed him instinctively.
Unconsciously they had made him captain of the expedition. But--no one
had heard them, he had said? If he had looked back once when the big gate
shut, he might have changed his mind upon that score. With white face
pressed close against the glass of the smoking-room window, which looked
directly out upon the front path, stood Borkins, watching them as though
he were watching a line of ghosts on their nightly prowl.

"Good Gawd!" he ejaculated, as he discerned their dark figures and the
light of the doctor's torch. "Every one of 'em gone--_every one_!" And